


She deserves a harem

by orphan_account



Series: the harem thrives on [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Asphyxiation, Beethoven style, Bonnie & Clyde Inspired, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Choking, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Filth, Forbidden Love, Inspired by GIFs, Masturbation, Multi, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Partner Betrayal, Shameless Smut, Student/Teacher, Symbolism, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, nsfw gifs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-01 21:58:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of drabbles/ficlets and oneshots of Shuri’s Harem.If it helps you sleep at night, Shuri is of age and legal in all of these, unless stated otherwise.





	1. sickening (Everett x Shuri)

**Author's Note:**

> You can blame EverShur writers for sparking this. 
> 
> Relationship and other Tags will be added as I update.
> 
> NSFW gif ahead.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Ross is but an alias and yet how sickening it is, to despoil the treasured Princess this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Gif ahead.

 

 

Sickening. That’s what it was. The ebony contrast of her hands fondling his balls as her pretty lips brought him closer to absolution. The King’s chamber on the other side of this wing, her mother’s right across hers.

The way she kept his gaze all the while she slurped on his hard cock, the sound of her fucking herself with her fingers as she moans. But it’s when he finally comes does he wonder how powerful her eyes are. Dark, ominous and dangerously too invigorating to look away.

Then she opens her mouth. A small heap of his spend slithers down his cock, making him shiver down the ends of his fingers and he thinks, what a waste.

When he caresses the sides of her face, fingering lost rows of her braids to the back of her head as she brings him down from his high, nipping small kisses on his now soft member.

When she reaches the small pool of mess that dribbled down to his perineum, and then she scoops it all back into her mouth, slurping at his filthy release when he sees her swallow his spunk by the way her throat moved.

Sickening. Sinfully sickening indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

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	2. Little white tiles (Bucky x Shuri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a clinically-diagnosed depressed classical piano teacher, and she is the student that tests his strings.
> 
> Shuri is a freshman in college (18). Bucky is 49.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW gifs ahead.

 

 

He’s never heard anyone play quite like her. The way her fingers eloquently move over the black and white tiles, the sombre plucks of pleasure it does to his inner being undoes the very parts of him that would prove to be immoral. Even thinking about it as he watched her should disgust him. But it doesn’t. He doesn’t know why.

 

She comes in every Tuesdays for her 3-hour piano lessons and every other Saturday for a whole day of sessions. He dreads the Tuesdays. Not because of how short of a time it takes for him to be close, but because she waltz in, in her school uniform, and not once but thrice in those ridiculous high knee socks, but oh how much will he has to take hold of. He never knew simple clothing of fabrics would undo his simple pleasures. He’s only but a man. A man who pries after a young student.

 

A flat note clutches him from his thoughts and he puts up a hand up to halt her, the music stops and he says, “Again.”

 

She huffs in frustration and turns the page, laying her fingers on the ivory tiles again, but this time she slams onto them with abandoned earnest.

 

 

“Don't be a brat,” he says, this time he turns to meet her eyes and suddenly he simply can’t form words.

 

“I’m a brat?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then don’t I deserve some kind of punishment?” she tilts her head with a wanton gesture of her eyes down his form and he fights the strings the motion alone does to his nerves.

 

_The nerve of this girl._

 

“Again. Don’t make me ask you one more time.”

 

* * *

 

But it would be later, his resolve slowly thinning to a crisp hairline breaking at a mere sharp take of her breath. He places her on the top of the piano, daring to coerce rejection from her when it backfires on him. She lays back her smooth dark legs raising as she spreads her knees before him, her white converses pressing on sadistic tunes of jumbled keys.

 

He would worship her atop his only god; music.

 

And oh her pretty noises we’re alluringly lovely.

 

* * *

 

 

 

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	3. you own me (Everett x Shuri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where she, just for a second imagines she's not important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little asphyxiation never hurt nobody.

In the day where the sun shines bright and her eyes gleam brighter for her _silver fox_ , where he would tangle his fingers with hers in woven marble, in the night she loves those fingers around her throat. Squeezing and drawing her breaths from entering her lungs, but she _loves_ it. 

 

She craves the feeling in her bones, the tremor of her release teeming right at the bottom of her belly.

 

She loves the abandoned cares she throws into the wind when he’s fucking her too well.

 

Just moments away from the sublime, just a _breath_ away from everlasting darkness.

 

Where she, just for a second imagines she's not _important_.

 

But _his_ in every way that's significant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No gifs inspired this one. Just had the image of Everett wearing that stupid watch as he's choking Shuri WHILE ALSO giving it to her good and well.


	4. golden cream (Steve x Shuri)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some RoyalShield for the harem. 
> 
> Take it as a deleted scene from Infinity War.

 

[The color yellow](https://www.bourncreative.com/meaning-of-the-color-yellow/) is a spontaneous and _unstable color..._

If **yellow** is overused, it can have a disturbing effect... Too much yellow causes loss of focus and makes it hard to complete a task. Too much yellow also can cause people to become critical and _demanding._

 

 

* * *

 

It’s not so great, she thinks, to be sinking claws into her brothers and mothers back, but with her nails scraping at every bit of hardened muscle on him seems to make every increment of the ‘not so great’ness disappear. She’s learnt to stop catching herself every time she thinks that its wrong. Because it is. But, with him its not.

 

Because he makes her red with want and green with jealousy for any other woman who would come his way.

 

Because she loses her mind and forgets for a moment just who she is.

 

But the captain is no more the saint he was painted to be. Not since Siberia.

 

And it shows in his rawness. In the way he simply just doesn’t care anymore. Something about the particular thing draws her in.

 

When he walked in with the rest of the ensemble, Bruce, Rhodey and the blonde agent, she had to give everything within her not to run to the nomad and kiss him senseless, but all they shared was a glance and a longing to be touched again.

 

But later when she fits his new shield on his wrists he stops for just a moment, caressing her hip with his other free hand and finally looks up into her eyes, ocean blue against a black sea of longing.

 

 

She puts the shield down and grabs the sides of his face, his beard tickling the insides of her palms as she presses her lips onto his. And it was perfect and still for just a moment.

 

Because he makes her yellow with freedom, like an unstable sun blazing under her skin.

 

But when he takes her onto the table, making up for lost time as he’s pawing at her skin, and at every piece of her she still has yet to give, too much yellow has her demanding for debauchery.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spite writing does things. Drop a comment about how extremely liberating it is to not gatekeep a fiction character.


	5. love you black or chrome (Tony x Shuri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small-time felon, big time abler.  
> Big time princess, small-time faker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Bonnie & Clyde inspired by [this](https://broken-whiteboy-collection.tumblr.com/post/181745346659) gifset. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Go follow [this tumblr](https://broken-whiteboy-collection.tumblr.com/) because their moodboards are a whole ass mood! Plus, the gif set is theirs (their mIND!) and so this wouldn't have happened had it not been for them.

 

 

 

_All I need in this life of sin is me and my girlfriend_

 

 

Dump the car. Steal the red one with the Hawaiian freshener hanging on the rearview mirror.

 

It was a ’51 Saratoga. 180 horsepower engine; which isn’t a lot by any means especially if he’s in need of a getaway car but he can rectify that with a new one with more HP to have half his face blown off by its sheer speed. A 125-inch wheelbase power steering. A 6-passenger beauty and she looked mighty fine. Mighty fine for a spin. To the nearest mechanic garage.

 

He pulls out a cigarette, lighting the tar with his fathers lighter. A gift before he left for the war and never came back. Some say he found another girl. Some say he was killed in action. But no letters of such news arrived home. The cavalry never dusted through their driveway. The girl was probably worth it.

 

“You eyeing the ‘toga?”

 

He pulls the burnt tar through his lungs and it escapes back through his nose, but he saves the rest to blow in her face.  

 

“What’s it to ya’?” he says, raising his brows as he tilts his head.

 

“It’s low on gas you won’t get that far with it ‘til you have to fill it up again.”

 

 _She’s all mouth then,_ he ponders. But he turns to face the car and then faces her again pursing his lips as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth, his fingers tapping on the sides, watching the ash fall to the dirt.

 

“That’s my daddy’s car.”

 

 _And?_ He wants to say, but he notices the scowl on her face, almost as if the car caused her distress but he wonders how such a look could still look beautiful, under the neon sign of the diner.

 

“I’m gonna steal it.”

 

“Take me with you?”

 

He swallows because she finally turns to him and her lips are all he’s thinking of. They do something to him, and he never wants to feel like he missed out. Her braids are pulled up in another elaborate braid, pinned together and he wonders if it was done on purpose because his eyes trace down her neck. Smooth. Dark. Like how he likes his liquor and he feels the oncoming monition tugging at his mind. Like a tolling bell for his eventual end. But like the tree forbidden from Eve, the snake was all too tantalizing, and as she turns back to face the car, he vows to take a bite. But he puffs another smoke and drops a few more ash on the gravel.

 

“Depends sweetheart.”

 

“On what?”

 

“How bad it’s gon’ get.”

 

“I’ll help you steal the car.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about sugar.”

 

“Then what?”

 

He waits for her eyes. He wants her eyes. And when she finally turns to face him, her eyes glinting at a yearning for mischief, he knows all that’s coming for him ends in a pile of ashes.

 

“Can you shoot?”

 

“My daddy taught me.”

 

“Can you drive?”

 

“My brother taught me that.”

 

Just his fucking luck.

 

“No. I don’t mean driving by the rules and the speed limit I mean _drive_ drive.”

 

“Did I mention my brothers on his way for a deal with Dynamo?”

 

He piques at her brashness, _a daddy’s girl indeed_.

 

“Who’s your brother again?”

 

“T’Challa, 4-time racing champion.”

 

He should’ve traced back, should’ve listened, should’ve left first. But for once he wants a warm seat next to him on the road, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t leave with her right then and there. He takes another lungful of tar and this time keeps the smoke between his fingers.

 

“S’not a life you want princess.”

 

“What… on the road? I’d say there’s no better way to live it.”

 

He’s definitely heard that before, and her arched brow and impertinence no doubt comes with the pearls on her collarbones and her well-manicured nails. But he soon seeks to reprimand the little thing in the sheets if she kept the act up.

 

“Tell you what, you get me that car-,” he pauses, her eyes are still ominous and on him and he wants to curse at how easy it was to give in. He licks his lips, drops the cigarette under his dusted boot and crushes it with a twist into the dried muck.

 

The swinging girl on the rearview mirror swaying to its silent tune and he makes up his mind.

 

“… and I’ll take you _anywhere_ you wanna go.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The thrum of the engine propelling them forward, the dust kissing the rear of the car and the swiveling turns stalked by an army of reds and blues. He regrets some few months ago, but the little happenings of joy they shared were real. Those, he feels needs a place for keepsakes. Maybe in a box with their polaroids or their little souvenirs picked up on thieving impulses, they could burn with the car. But first, burn the car.

 

 

 

 

“Jesus! Could you just slow down a bit.”

 

“You don’t hear those sirens asshole?”

 

“Yes, I know but live a little baby.”

 

“Says the one who told me to slow down!”

 

“Shuri?”

 

“What!”

 

“I think those are guns.”

 

“Goddamnit Tony!”

 

“Wow, those are shiny.”

 

“Could you at least help? Instead of mouthing off-“

 

“You like it when I mouth you off,” he teases, cocking the gun as he eyes the side mirrors for the famed red and blues hues jailers.

 

“JUST FUCKING DO SOMETHING!”

 

“Keep going baby-“

 

“We’re going to drive off a cliff Anthony!”

 

“You trust me?”

 

“You know I do.”

 

And that right there is the first blow to his uncertainties. Because he knows exactly who she is, and what she’s doing, or rather what she’s  _been_ doing.

 

Playing the mole. Pulling his leg.

 

“I know baby. Keep going,” he utters, sullen and glowering at her two-faced affirmation.

 

“Tony?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“There was never a better way to live my life, then live it on the road with you.”

 

 _Cheap_ , he muses.

 

“Shuri? Just drive baby.”

 

“I’m trying to confess dickwad.”

 

“Do that when we’re on the other side,” he murmurs as he winds down his window, a bullet smashing the side mirror. He turns slightly, aims for the right tyre and shoots his target, the car lurches to its opposite side. He was always better alone with his gun and he makes up his mind one more time.

 

“Tony, what are you doing?!”

 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he whispers, cocks the tip of his gun against her temple, nevermind the way her face is flooded with pleas and tears but they we're fickle against the trigger. 

 

They were wrong to send the Saratoga and her pretty face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...

_Down to ride to the bloody end, just me and my girlfriend._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'was in the moment and I might add more depth when the writing gods hear me, but for now, I just could NOT not let go of this one. So I'm sorry if this is lacking lmao.
> 
>  
> 
> Lyrics are from Tupac's Me & My Girlfriend. Haven't watched B&C in a looooong while, so I hope there was something in there that even nods to the iconic movie.


	6. come hither (Natasha x Shuri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullets... what a thing that undoes her so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Take Me To Church by Hozier... 
> 
> NSFW Gif ahead.

The package could strive to be a bit more discreet, but the picture of the bullet and a woman in lingerie on the packet gave the content inside away. No wonder she received looks from the maids, and the rather disapproving one on her mother’s face as she held the packet with a thumb and a finger as if disgusted by the box left her just as embarrassed as she was annoyed.

 

 Yet, as riled as she was, she goes to the one woman she hoped would understand her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Sit there and watch Shuri,” Natasha murmurs, gesturing a seat for Shuri to take.

 

 

And that’s about the only direction she takes from then onwards. Because she simply sits there… and watches. How calculated a meek turn of events has resorted to. Toes tingling on the plush carpet below her feet, the Oakland traffic behind her, the tick of the second-hand clock abounding over the tangible stillness, the white snowflakes on the window ledge.

 

 

_“Watch how a woman indulges in sin.”_

 

 

She unzips her suit, and Shuri doesn’t know exactly what she expected, but she’s only wearing a bra under her bodysuit, and as she starts to pull the flimsy thing down, following the curve of her peach shaped buttocks, Shuri finds she’s wearing nothing else and she admires just how brave that is.

 

 

“This is what society would tell you.”

 

 

She plops on the sofa before her, her breasts bounding out from the confines of her bra, her rosy nipples hard and peaking against the cold room and Shuri swallows in eagerness. The sight of the almost naked woman before undoing acrobatic flips in her belly and before she chalks it up to nervousness, she wonders if the slight tremors of her fingers come from her need to touch the agent.

 

 

“That this is wrong.”

 

 

And it very well felt like it as she starts to squeeze at her nipples, tugging and twisting her rosy buds and Shuri can’t help her fascination from tipping over, and for a moment it seemed like time stilled and all her little wanting heart could fathom was how tasty, how plenty and just how… hungry her mouth becomes. Opening slightly and yearning for an astral fill of her wetness.

 

 

“That we’re not allowed the freedom of exploring our own bodies.”

 

 

Her eyelids flutter, her throat squeezes a whimper out of her mouth, choking at the heaviness of lust in the room, as if the redhead just waltzed in with a vacuum sucking every last bit of her sanity out of her soul. But the agent leans back, hips swiveling on the sofa and all the while her gaze was on _her_.

 

 

“Did you know very few women get to come whilst having sex? Making love?”

 

 

She slides her hand down her stomach, the scar on her hip a dent in the landscape of her vastly exquisite body and her breath hitches when she finally sees her spread her knees and the merest glance of her pink folds has her breath, taking. Flushed. Glistening slightly at the smallest catch of light. Until she closes them again, a smirk now breaking on her lips and she craves the taste of them, her hands gripping at the arms of the chair as she squeezes her legs togather, knowing just how wet she's becoming.

 

 

“ _Fucking_ , as you will?”

 

 

The word alone does a flip in her stomach, and suddenly she’s at a crossroads: what would this actually achieve? If there was ever a thing to achieve, to prove, that a 21-year-old on a platform that allowed to bravely speak about the future, would still be confined within the walls of an aged stigma.

 

 

“Does that make you angry? Does it make you seethe with frustration?”

 

 

_A little_ , she muses, and she wants her to spread her knees again. The barest amount of air she inhales through her nose at the realization. _A lot,_ she concludes.

 

 

“That they would take whatever they want and twist the knife in our chest.”

 

 

“Bury that shame too far deep it limits any pleasure we deserve,” she moans, knees still closed but she knows her hands are between her thighs.

 

 

“That they forget, you’re a human being.”

 

 

“And they tell you it’s not ok to be naked, it’s not ok to touch yourself?”

 

 

She can smell her. Even when she’s playing mouse and the agent is the canary, a devious thing, lulling her insecurities in exchange for something so… soiled. When she does open her knees again, this time she’s circling her little nub with a finger and she engraves the sight into her genius little brain; something to practice when she’s all alone without status to her bone on her bed.

 

 

“Shaming you for something that’s so naturally pure?”

 

 

Her mouth salivates for the squelch that starts to pump at her entrance, her vulva looking so plump and alluring, pink and so damn filthy in the way her wetness coat her fingers as she begins to thrust them, pulling, stroking against her silken walls and she imagines just how tight she would feel wrapped around her tongue. Her other hand reaching down to flick at her clitoris as the agent shakes, her body trembling from her own attention, while she watches as she leans her head back, mouth open, her neck stretched and ripe for a bite, but her eyes, green and strong on her.

 

 

Somehow, she feels no less wicked for craving the same power.

 

 

 

 

_“Because it is Shuri.”_

 

_“It’s natural. It’s pure.”_

But most of all, it was potent.

 

 

 

 

 

So was the taste of her.

 

So were the strokes of her fingers.

 

So was the essence on her tongue.

 

Tasting the gradual ooze of her wetness between her fingers. The heady scent lathered deep within the cracks of her skin. When her finger reaches deeper between the tender slosh of her folds and her thumb finds the little nub that has the agent whimpering for release.

 

The whine that soon followed after has her head spinning, whirling under her skin for something more… iniquitous.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_And as they lock eyes_

_of emerald jewel against her obsidian,_

_she leans o’er the edge_

_and invites her to come hither._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a bullet- I mean a comment, I like those haha :)
> 
>    
> Here:
> 
>  

**Author's Note:**

> I have a shit load of NSFW/SFW gifs/pics (of which the WP Discord fam have had a small taste of) that I send myself that inspire me for a moment, and then it disappears. But here is where I will keep them from now on instead of my tumblr inbox. 
> 
> Happy New Years 🌻


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